The Love Machine Read Online Free PDF Page A

them each day. A black suit simplified life: fine for the office, but equally presentable if an important dinner date came up. The cigarette case was a great prop. If he was asked to make a snap decision, he could reach for the cigarette case, select a cigarette, tap it against the case—it gave him time to think, to stall. It was also a substitute for cuticle picking, nail biting and other manifestations of nerves.
His hands felt damp. He didn’t want to lose this job! This was power! There was no place to go after this, no place other than the Valhalla of ex-network presidents, the martini-laden four-hour daily lunch at “21.”
He stared out the window. A watery sun was trying to shine. Spring would soon be here. This couch would be here in spring. Gregory’s secretary would be here. But he would be gone. Suddenly he knew how a condemned man must feel as he walks to the electric chair and stares at the witnesses who must watch him die. He breathed deeply, as if savoring every last second of life; as if in a few seconds his life could be shot from under him. The large office, the trips to the Coast, the bungalow at the Beverly Hills Hotel, the broads. … He walked back to the couch. He didn’t consciously believe in God, yet he sent up a small prayer—a promise. If he got through today without getting canned, things would be different. He’d make those numbers rise. He’d do it if he had to steal shows from other networks. He’d make it a twenty-four-hour-a-day job. He’d cut down on the booze, on the broads. This was a pledge—and he’d keep it. Hadn’t he kept the rule he had set for himself against drinking at lunch? He had made that decision when he saw the disintegration of Lester Mark. Lester had headed a big advertising agency. Dan had watched him go from two to four to five martinis at lunch. Martinis bolster a man’s confidence and loosen his tongue. He had watched Lester go from president of an advertising agency to vice-president of a lesser agency, from vice-president to unemployment, from there to full-time alcoholic.
Dan was convinced that the lunchtime martini was one of the worst occupational hazards of television. For this reason, he was strict in his abstinence during the day. What he did after hours he always considered his own business. But in this past year he had been doing it too much. Maybe that was why he had latched on to Susie Morgan, breaking another of his rules. (Keep your social life apart from your business.) Susie was too young for him, so he made no passes and stayed reasonably sober when he took her out. Besides, he couldn’t really cope with a twenty-three-year-old: a girl that age has marriage spelled across her forehead. It was safer to get a hooker for sex or even jerk off. Girls like Susie were good for window dressing. He’d even give up the hookers if he held the job. He’d stay home several nights a week, just watch that goddam box, watch the competition, find out why IBC was lagging. Find out what the public really wanted. Oh, who the hell knew? Even the public didn’t know.
The heavy door swung open and Gregory Austin walked in. Dan jumped up. Gregory was holding the ratings. He handed Dan the paper and motioned him to sit down. Dan studied the ratings as if seeing them for the first time. From the corner of his eye he watched Gregory pace up and down the room. Where did the man get the energy? Dan was ten years younger, yet he didn’t walk with the same spring. Austin was not a tall man. Dan was five foot ten and he stood several inches higher than Gregory. Even Judith in her high heels sometimes appeared taller than Gregory. Yet there was a virility and a feeling of strength that emanated from him. His whole being crackled with excitement: the red hair, the freckles on the strong sun-tanned hands, his flat stomach, the quick movements, and the sudden disarming smile. The rumor was that he had led an active love life among the Hollywood starlets until he met